Don't Pass Alone
by Mirror and Image
Summary: Dr. Strange just wanted to meditate when the Sanctum informed him that Someone Had Arrived. Now he must determine what has put Odin into the condition that Dr. Strange has found him and how to fix it.


**Don't Pass Alone**

Mirror and Image

Why was it always during tea?

That was Doctor Stephen Strange's first thought. As a neurosurgeon he had been very much aware of the research in mindfulness and meditation, how it affected the hippocampus and rostrolateral prefrontal cortex, corpus callosum, the list went on and on. He had read all the articles. To a small degree, he even practiced it. That ability to be in the moment, the intense focus, was a necessity to become the top-ranked neurosurgeon in the world. But he only ever used the practice to advance himself.

Since his career switch, meditation and mindfulness took on an entirely different form. It wasn't about focus, anymore, though his was better now than even when he had been a neurosurgeon. Now his mindfulness was about self-reflection, self-care, and sensing the world around him.

And since being a Master of the Mystic Arts didn't really equate to getting down time, meditation often replaced sleep and rest. Thus, aside from his usual duties of teaching, research, battling interdimensional threats, etc, he always found some point in the day to sit down and meditate for himself.

At that moment, Stephen was sitting by the fire, a warm cup of tea cradled between his hands and resting on his lap for further stability, eyes closed and just breathing. He felt each breath through his body, felt the chair, the warmth of the tea that soothed the perpetual ache in his hands, the crackle of the fire. Another breath and he was even deeper, listening to the silence of his own mind, taking a moment to do nothing, and let things relax.

He wanted to spend a good hour like this. Focused on his breath and nothing else. Letting the clutter fade away. But barely ten minutes in and a ripple shuddered through him as the magic of the Sanctum reacted to something large arriving on Earth.

Stephen took one last, long, beleaguered sigh before opening his eyes, and standing, the Cloak already flying over to hug his shoulders. The Sanctum seemed to shudder again, though there was no visible sign, but Stephen could feel it along his skin. The Sanctum always alerted those within if something shifted in the magical balance of the Earth. And so strong a shudder meant some powerful magical being had arrived. He headed up the stairs to his study to see if he could isolate what had happened and where.

Stephen's study was filled with all sorts of trinkets and magical items, along with any books he was currently studying. Most were items of defense or forewarning. But occasionally the Sanctum itself would provide something that Stephen needed. That was very much the case at the moment, as a small orb hovering over an ornate stand was set right in the middle of his desk.

"Hmm. Thank you," he said to the Sanctum.

The orb pulsed again as another shudder tingled over Stephen's awareness. Stephen took another deep breath, kept centered, and started the first part of anything a Master of the Mystic Arts did.

Research.

The orb, at least, was something he recognized from previous readings. It was an orb of vision, that let one see within roughly a hundred miles of where one was. Useful for defense and scouting. That meant that whatever had occurred was within New York, most likely, which explained why other masters weren't showing up to call him back to Kamar-Taj to discuss whatever had happened, though Stephen was fairly sure that whatever had happened was likely felt by all the Sanctums.

Another shudder ran through him.

Placing his hands on the orb, Stephen closed his eyes and very politely asked what it wanted to show him. New York blossomed in his mind. Tree-lined streets, a heavy brick building several stories high with skyscrapers visible behind it, a busy street, and a name. _Shady Acres Care Home_.

_Really, someone actually named a retirement home "Shady Acres"? Someone's been watching too much television_.

"Please," he asked the orb again, "what has occurred?"

The vision didn't change, only blurred.

Powerful magic, then.

"Thank you."

Stephen briefly considered just going over there now, but panic wasn't exactly sweeping the city and he'd learned it was better to be prepared if one could be. Time to look up some books.

Almost an hour later and things were still calm outside. The Sanctum still shuddered occasionally, but not in such surprise anymore. Stephen himself had gone through several books, researching what could make a Sanctum actually shudder. He gave a small huff of frustration that nothing seemed to inform him of anything. As he blinked, he found himself in a different room.

"Oh," he looked around, wondering why the Sanctum pulled him to the archives instead of the library. There was a thud behind him, and he turned to find an open book on a desk, pages just dropping into place. He smiled. The Sanctum was truly a wonder, sometimes.

The book was a record of all entries of the previous Master, Daniel Drumm. Specifically, the page was an entry from 2012 about the appearance of two Norse gods and an alien fight in New York that had left the Sanctum shuddering and the Ancient One arriving to help in the battle.

The entry itself was fascinating, how the Ancient One had been on the roof taking out flying Chitauri while Daniel Drumm had been on the streets, setting protections and getting people to safety, leading through the Sanctum corridors that had been cast under illusions to bring them somewhere else in the city. But of key reference was the shuddering of the Sanctum. Flipping forward showed other instances when the Sanctum would shudder, usually when Thor arrived, but also Sif when she was helping agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. So, an Asguardian.

Or some other Cosmic being.

Stephen nodded to himself. Time to visit a retirement home, it seemed.

Portaling to a dark alley was simplicity itself, and the long shadows of the afternoon worked to his advantage. He was already under a glamour to appear in a suit and tie. Specifically, an old suit that he'd worn when he needed to visit other hospitals and but forth his best. There was a familiarity to it, including the badge hanging from his breast pocket, as he stepped up to the retirement home. He walked in like he belonged there.

His eyes damn near watered once he was inside.

There was powerful magic here. He walked the first floor, eyes and senses alert, looking everywhere and at everyone. If some sort of Cosmic being was here, it was likely disguised as a human, so he paid particular attention to any patient, doctor, nurse, or orderly he saw. Nothing yet, but four floors to go. No one questioned why he was here, as he went from the rooms of more able-bodied elderly, who could still move around and had their minds and each floor up the elderly got less and less able. By the third floor, the rooms of each resident was more of a hospital room, and the numbers of medical staff increased, chatting or discussing residents, what was next in treatment, or when family had last visited. Stephen let it all flow around him as he checked in every room.

It was on the fifth floor when Stephen, very quietly, swore vociferously.

Lying comatose in a hospital bed in a sparse room that had clearly just been made up for a new patient, was the being that had made the Sanctum shudder.

Old, very old, shoulder-length white hair, a weathered patch over the left eye, neat beard, powerful frame despite the clear age. Strength radiated from him, in an almost overbearing way, but Stephen hadn't seen it until he had walked over purely on the curiosity of the eyepatch. There was some very powerful spellwork on this man. Not any spellwork he was familiar with. Nothing from Earth or the various dimensions he'd seen till then. However, as dimensional energy still followed some basic principles, Stephen studied the flow and saw there was a certain twist he was familiar with. Sleep spell. Incredibly strong, and there were inner tendrils that had Stephen wondering about magic that affected the mind.

Time for more research. This being wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

* * *

Stephen arrived the next day looking less like a visiting doctor and more like one who practiced there. No one questioned him again, and he went right to the fifth floor to visit his "patient". He used his phone to dictate notes to himself, studied the man's chart (incredibly blank to his eyes, but spelled for nurses and orderlies to see "Johnson, James", 94, Alzhiemer's and Dementia), and took observations for the majority of the day. Then he was back at the Sanctum for more research.

Of course, by now, Stephen knew he was dealing with Odin. His initial thoughts that the being would be of Asgardian origin giving the shuddering of the Sanctum and proven correct with the most basic internet search of Norse mythology brought up Thor (intermingled with modern articles on the god's reappearance, what that meant for modern theology, and speculations on why he was as he was), Loki (with many, many news articles on the Battle of New York and psychologist's hot-takes on the mischief of the god given old stories that had survived and the salivation of interviewing him) and, of course, Odin.

Old, powerful, patch over the eye. Yeah, there wasn't much room for doubt. Then Stephen researched what little had survived the Sanctum's records and in Kamar-Taj about Asgardian magic and the magics of Jotenhiem. There was no doubt after that. Something must have happened in Asgard to leave Odin bespelled in New York.

Stephen grit his teeth.

Wong always told him that magic had a fair bit of instinct to it, but Stephen didn't want to mess with foreign magic without a far, far, _far_ better understanding of it.

So it was back to research. He visited Odin every day, checked his vitals, observed the intricate weavings of the spell, and went back to the Sanctum to research sleeps spells and anything that would affect the mind. The sleep spells were easier to research. The core was simple: Put someone to sleep. That convincing the suprachiasmatic nucleus in the hypothalmus to receive the chemical GABA from the brain stem and to set the thalamus to become more inactive to allow for sleep which let the body fix itself. The core of any spell was about GABA and shutting down the thalamus, from what Stephen was able to learn. Sleep spells made one unaware of their surroundings (shutting down the thalamus) and encouraged sleepiness (higher increase of GABA from the brain step to the suprachiasmatic nucleus). By all books, it was a simple concept that came with dire consequences if done wrong due to the fact that it affected the most complicated part of any human, the brain.

But Doctor Stephen Strange wasn't some novice. He was a neurosurgeon. If anyone could understand how this spell would work or go wrong, it was him. He had a far deeper understanding of how the spell worked simply by the fact that he _knew_ the brain.

While the individual details of the sleep spell were unfamiliar to Stephen, he wasn't worried about breaking it. No, the worry was what that spell on the mind was doing, and Stephen wouldn't have a good idea of that until Odin was awake and talking.

It was a week after Odin arrived. Stephen arrived just after closing hours, offered a few yawns to the nurses who were working the night shift and looked to the world like a tired doctor making one last set of rounds before heading home. Once in Odin's room, he locked the door and took one last look at the intricate lay of spellwork before nodding to himself.

It was like surgery in a way. Complete and utter focus on one singular goal or task. He needed to remove the sleep spell without damaging the brain and without messing with the interconnected spell that had _some_ undisclosed effect on the mind. Snip, stitch, twist, unwind, tie off. The detail and intricacy of the sleep spell was impressive. Whoever had cast this, (most likely: Loki) had clearly intended for Odin to sleep forever until his death. But Stephen was certainly no slouch at spellwork, and this foreign magic was a fascinating challenge that took all of his attention.

When he was done, he flicked the last of the orange sparks from his fingers and took a step back to take a deep breath. _Add another brain surgery to my perfect record_, he thought to himself with a heavy irony. The body was now in a natural state of sleep. Once Odin awoke, he could ascertain what sort of effect the second spell had.

Nodding to himself, Stephen made a portal, and with a gesture, brought them both through. Odin now lay in a comfortable bed in a guest room of the Sanctum. He went back to the nursing home long enough to undo any lingering spellwork, such as on the charts, and then returned to settle himself into bed. It had been a loooong week of research on top of all his other duties, and he was looking forward to some sleep. The Cloak hugged his shoulders and settled over him as it always did once he was settled in bed. Smiling, he sleepily ran a hand over the rich fabric and fell immediately asleep.

* * *

When Stephen went to check on Odin the next day, he was _not_ expecting to see the god sitting up in bed, calmly looking around with the faintest hint of confusion crinkling his eye.

Not knowing how Odin would react to… well… anything, Stephen, still dressed as a doctor, erred on being exceedingly polite.

"Greetings," he said formally, dipping his head down in respect. After all, it wasn't often one dealt with a god in one's home.

"Greetings," Odin replied.

Stephen crossed off one of the items he was looking for from whatever that spell did. Odin, the Allfather, could still use Allspeak. That removed one huge barrier that might have been a problem.

Stephen also took the polite words as permission to enter the room. "How are you feeling?" he asked politely, watching the intricate spellwork that was feeding and altering Odin's energy.

Odin's single eye turned to him, perceptive and measuring, and simply stated, "Aware."

Nodding, Stephen slowly pulled out a pen-light. "I am a doctor. May I check your vitals?"

Odin said nothing, simply stared as he was clearly trying to process things.

"And how do you… check my vitals?"

Stephen took another step forward. "Nothing painful or invasive," he replied. He offered a wry grin. "Annoying, perhaps."

Odin offered the barest of chuckles. "Proceed with your checks."

Stephen made sure everything he did was slow and visible. Odin wasn't giving away much for his mental state, and questions would need to be asked, but for now, Stephen thought it best to establish a routine. He had no actual clue what an Asguardian's vitals might be, but he did so anyway, for future reference if nothing else. "Your pulse is steady and calm, but weaker than I thought," he explained. This was a god, why did the pulse not feel as strong as an average humans? Why was it weaker than when he last checked Odin's vitals? "Respiration normal." Or rather, appeared normal within human norms. Who knew about Asgardians. Did they even breath as humans did? Rumors stated that Thor had been out in space once and hadn't needed any breathing apparatus, but that was mere rumor. "Blood pressure is lower than I'd like, but within a normal range." He looked to Odin's face. "Your color looks good." A check of a thermometer also showed an interesting number. Warmer than human, by a fair amount.

Stephen sat on the edge of the bed. "I need to do another list of checks," he explained, "but these will definitely fall into the annoying category."

Odin stared stoically at him. "How so?"

Time to explain. Stephen took a breath and ignored the nerves that he hadn't felt since med-school flare up at telling a patient their condition and squashed it back down. "You've been in a coma. For a long time." Who knew how long. "Honestly, I'm surprised you're awake and aware right now. I wasn't expecting this so swiftly. I need to see if being in the coma has affected your cognitive functioning. So I'll be asking a lot of idiot questions to make sure you understand things and testing what your mind can process in the most basic of fashions."

"A coma?"

Stephen nodded. "You were essentially asleep for a very long time."

There was a flicker of recognition, then it vanished back into confusion as the spellwork seemed to flicker. "Why was I in this coma?"

"That's what I need to figure out," Stephen replied. "You came into my care in a coma, and I have no medical history to understand why." Only ancient legends that were of dubious validity.

"Hmmm," Odin replied, clearly thinking hard. But the spellwork around him kept flaring and flickering. Fascinating. "You may proceed."

Stephen nodded. He held up his penlight, then flashed it in Odin's eye. "Pupils react to light. That's a good sign."

Odin's face was less than amused. "I'll take your word for that."

Stephen nodded. "Who are you?"

Odin's mask of calmness cracked for the briefest of moments before settling back on. "That is a very good question." Stephen nodded, watching the flare of spellwork. So, definitely memory based. Aimed at forgetting, clearly.

"Do you know where you are?"

"A bedroom," Odin replied dryly.

Stephen's own lips twitched.

"Do you know what day it is?"

"If I was out as long as you say, clearly not."

Stephen shrugged. "A checklist is a checklist, even if I suspect that I know all the answers."

"Yes, I'd imagine confirmation is a convenience needed for proceeding."

"Perhaps, just a touch," Stephen replied lightly. "I can clarify a few things. It is currently Friday, March third, twenty-seventeen. You are in my home and practice, in New York City, in the state of New York, in the United States of America, on Earth."

Stephen watched the spellwork closely. Very much memory related, this spell. He had a better grasp of it now, but just because he knew it dealt with memory, didn't mean he knew the details. This was going to require more research.

"And, by a miracle, I can tell you your name," Stephen offered. "Or at least, the only name you were given when I took over your care."

Odin raised a snowy brow. "Oh?"

"You are Odin."

Stephen watched carefully, but there was no flicker of if Odin knew that name or not.

Right. One probably didn't rule as the Allfather without being very cautious and playing things close to the vest. This was going to take time, and trust, as well as research.

* * *

The following morning, Stephen came in again, doing the same checklist. No major changes.

"Still no memories?"

"Unfortunately, no," Odin said quietly.

Stephen nodded. He had some thoughts, and studying the spellwork, he had ideas, but he didn't dare try any sort of magic on the mind unless he had a far, _far_ better idea of what was going on. First step, then, physio.

"You haven't moved from your bed. I think a little exercise would be beneficial."

Odin said nothing, just sat back and looked through a hooded, not-quite-believing eye.

"Exercise?"

Stephen nodded, in full I'm-a-doctor-I-know-what-I'm-talking-about-now-listen-damn-you mode. "We wouldn't want bedsores to form. Those can get easily infected and take forever to heal."

"I shouldn't think that will be a problem."

"You were in a coma for an unknown amount of time. It's only through careful care that you don't have such sores already."

"It won't be a problem."

Now that had some interesting flares along the complicated spellwork. Stephen narrowed his eyes, observing. Did Odin consciously know he was an Asguardian and unlikely to suffer bedsores, or was he unaware and just going from instinct? Time to test the theory. "If it won't be a problem, then you won't mind getting up and walking around the room."

"For what purpose?"

"To remind your muscles that they exist and need to work to earn their keep."

"Hm," Odin said lightly, considering. Then with a flourish, he threw back the sheets, easily got out of bed before Stephen was even out of his chair, and started walking around the room. Stephen was swiftly by his side, just in case, but as expected of an Asguardian, the whole process showed no problems whatsoever. After two laps around the room, Odin returned easily to his bed and settled into the sheets, not looking the least bit winded.

"Good to know how spry you are, given your age," Stephen replied light. He pulled out his stethoscope to start checking heart rate.

"I can't say for certain," Odin replied quietly, brow furrowed, "but I don't think I'm as hale as when I was younger."

Stephen only shrugged. He could neither confirm nor deny what he didn't know. "Your heart rate and breathing didn't increase." He stood back and took his chair by the bed again. "Knowing that you are clearly physically capable, I'm surprised you haven't gotten up to explore."

Odin stared to space for a moment, before shrugging. "I had no impetuous, nor do I now. I'm content to just sit here and think."

Stephen only nodded. "I'll bring breakfast up to you within an hour." He headed to the door. "Given your age," he said nonchalantly, watching the spellwork closely, "perhaps you should consider if you have any children or not."

The spellwork flared brightly, the magic so strong Stephen felt his eyes water and the unseen pressure was so strong he almost stumbled.

Definitely a retrieving problem.

* * *

Memory was an incredibly complicated thing that still wasn't understood. Memory always started with perception. The hippocampus, deep inside the brain, received five different sensory inputs at any one time and worked with the frontal cortex on if such perceptions were worth remembering or not, and then encoding the perceptions into a memory, changing neurons to send the perceptions to either short-term or long-term memory. Short-term would be dumped after 20-30 seconds, long-term was either conscious or unconscious.

Stephen sipped his tea and stroked the Cloak as he read through another article about the encoding of memories and the retrieval. The fact that it was memory was the hardest part. So much of memory was unstudied or not understood. How did the brain chemically decide if short-term memories should be dumped or sorted to long-term, for example? The strongest memories one had were always related to emotions, and that got into psychology. Stephen, when he was arrogant and stupid, had considered psychology too soft a science to be worthy of his time beyond knowing enough to recommend a good shrink for someone who didn't really need him.

Now he regretted never properly studying it. Psychology would be more useful than the distinct lack of research in memory retrieval.

Thinking of children, something that would have strong emotions for _any_ parent, had made the spell flare in order to contain the memories and prevent retrieval. If Stephen had any knowledge of _factual_ stories of Odin that he could use to try and make the spell flare again so he could study the effects more, it would be useful. But Stephen didn't trust legends for factual, and he didn't want to experiment on a spell dealing with memory by bringing up Thor or Loki directly.

So he kept researching.

Things fell into a pattern. He would check in with Odin and deliver meals as needed, leaving various books in any language for Odin to read while Stephen himself researched. If he was called to some inter-dimensional catastrophe (read: every few hours or so) a student would handle it with some _very_ strict doctor's orders on what could and couldn't be said.

What was interesting was what Odin did, or specifically _didn't_ ask. The students who checked in on him were dressed as students, not under a glamor like Stephen was. But Odin never questioned their unusual garb. Odin never questioned that the various books he often read (non-magical) were in several different languages and that he could read them all. Attempts at conversation were always pleasant, friendly, and utterly useless. Odin let nothing slip and Stephen didn't want to confront the god directly incase the spell had some sort of failsafe that would initiate. His research was only getting him so far.

Something was going to have to change.

Stephen just wasn't sure where to make that change.

* * *

In the end, Odin made the choice for him.

It had been a loooong and harrowing day. Stephen had spent most of the day criss-crossing the globe as an incursion of therianthropes, breaking through various vales that had left all of Kamar-Taj and its sanctums marshaling forces to find, and sadly, fight many before returning them to their dimension. The incursion in Montreal had been particularly nasty, and the small family that had ended up in Laos were simply lost and desperate and hungry. But Uruguay had been the worst and Stephen was exhausted, bleeding, and filthy when he returned to the New York Sanctum. All he wanted was a shower, bed, and food, not necessarily in that order. He entered the kitchen in hopes of getting something to nibble on, but he saw one of the students with a tray full of dinner. It wasn't meant for him.

Stephen closed his eyes and let out a long, tired sigh.

"Thank you," he told the student. "I'll handle this. You'd best get back to Kamar-taj, you'll be more needed there."

With a polite nod, the student left and Stephen just leaned against the counter, willing up the energy to deliver this to Odin, offer some polite words, and then go for the desired bed, shower, and food.

The cloak hugged his shoulders tiredly, offering its quiet support and Stephen let a shaky hand stroke the inner lining.

Even though his hands ached and his fingers were still _twitching_, he went through the movements to cast a glamor. He was back to looking like a doctor, albeit a very tired one, and he hoped that Odin might get the idea to not offer polite conversation so much as let him disappear as soon as he dropped off the tray.

With the tray carefully balanced on his forearms, hands curled under for more surface area to balance, Stephen trudged to the stairs and just let the cloak gently fly him up.

"Good evening, Odin," he said with the best pasted-on smile, perfected after residency hell and long shifts that still required basic manners when dealing with traumatized patients. "I hope you have had a good day."

Odin merely stared at him, frown digging into his beard, looking older than when he had first arrived. "I should be asking you that," he replied, eye looking Stephen up and down.

Stephen merely shrugged, the part of a tired doctor not at all an act at this point. He gently set the tray down on the small table that had been set over Odin's lap. "I'd recommend a good meal and some more rest. Barring any emergencies, tomorrow I'd like to go over what you might remember. We've discussed recent events and earlier memories in depth. I thought I'd check your memories in details and see if that helps diagnose where the breakdown is occurring."

Odin still stared at him, the sighed before pushing back the tray of food.

"How long do you intend to glamor yourself?"

Stephen's tired brain was immediately alert and on fire as he looked to Odin. "Oh?" he asked politely.

"I hadn't realized that seidhr remained here on Midgard," Odin replied, his head tilted slightly, looking on curiously. "At first I thought you had taken me, but it seems you have been studying the spell. I know enough of magics to see the trails, and I have been covered in them. You observe, you study, you diagnose. You may disguise yourself as a healer of Midgard, but you seem to bear some of the skills as well. Yet you hide yourself from me. Every time."

Stephen sank back in his chair and regarded Odin.

Well, now he knew if Odin knew he was Asguardian or not. His mind immediately started cutting off possibilities and reorganizing diagnostic trees with this even as his eyes burned with exhaustion.

Stephen flicked his hand and let the glamor drop, very quietly grateful that he didn't have to expend the energy any more.

"Patients tend not to listen when their doctor is just-returned from battle."

Odin's eye twinkled. "A warrior then. I'd never thought that of the seidhr before."

"Doctor," Stephen corrected. "I am a doctor, first and foremost, even before I learned the Mystic Arts. I am a doctor even now, though my field of practice is... more _specialized_."

"And so you are," Odin said lightly. "Now that the illusions have faded, might we discuss the _actual_ reason I'm here?"

Stephen shrugged. "The reason remains the same. I'm trying to help you."

Odin quirked a brow. "Really? I awaken here with no memories of how I came to be here, no memories of who I am, no memories before meeting you. I have complicated spellwork about me, and you regularly hide behind an illusion. Tell me, _doctor_, what reason am I here for?"

The cloak was twitching and Stephen absently ran a hand along a seam. "Exactly what I have stated. I found you in a nursing home under not only the spell you're currently suffering from, but a sleep spell of great power. It took me the better part of a week to remove it, and I've been trying to figure out how to remove that memory spell since then." He let out a tired sigh. "I knew you had a memory spell on you once you awoke, but I didn't know the extent. Did you know you were Asguardian? Or did you think yourself human? If you were human and I asked about things no human knows about, would you run away thinking me insane? Instead, I proceeded cautiously, asking small questions to see if you knew anything."

Stephen offered a flat stare. "You stonewalled me until now."

Odin offered a soft "hmmm" before looking Stephen up and down. "You aren't lying," he stated with finality.

"No."

Odin settled further back in his bed, letting out a tired sound. "That is, perhaps, the most disturbing thing. You said you knew my name, that I was Odin." He turned to Stephen tiredly. "Perchance, do you have any books that might reference me?"

"A few, though accuracy is dubious at best."

"Oh?"

"The last time Asgardians were here was over a thousand years ago, up until recently. Humanity's ability to keep records at that time were sparse to non-existent. What I have is oral traditions that were eventually transcribed, centuries after they most likely started." Stephen shrugged, eyes still burning with exhaustion. "Oral traditions are always altered by the next reciter, based on what is remembered or what might be best for whatever audience is listening."

"Ahhh. I would still like to see them."

Stephen shook his head. "I would advise against it, as your doctor. Memories best work when coming back naturally. If one tries to force it, especially with the spellwork around you being so complex, I worry that the spell would take what you were trying to remember and alter it to something within its parameters. I can't guarantee against false memories, so I would rather avoid such a complication."

Odin let out a disappointed sigh. "A wise precaution, perhaps. But I have many more questions."

Stephen bit back a yawn. "Of course. How might I help?"

Odin looked him over once more. "Get some rest. My questions will still be here on the 'morrow."

Stephen simply nodded, leaned back, and passed out.

* * *

The following morning, things went very differently when Stephen visited Odin. He did his usual check up, but rather than ask questions about memories, he instead brought in all the books he'd been studying on magic and the mind, letting Odin look through them as well. They discussed magical theory, practice, how Asguardian physiology differed from human, etc.

"You speak of your body in metaphors," Stephen sighed. "A device to 'see souls'? Seems more like an advanced version of an MRI. I need more details."

"Alas, those don't seem to be my expertise," Odin replied, squinting at a book. "Nor is magic. It is clear I have a knowledge base in magic, enough to recognize it, but all this theory, how one manipulates it, I do not understand."

That, at least, made sense. "I suspect someone-someone_s_\- close to you knew a great deal about magic. Enough to advise you."

Odin glanced over shrewdly. "You know who?"

"I _suspect_ based on legends that have been passed down. Again, I consider all accuracy dubious."

"Yet you won't say more or share the volumes of legends you have."

Stephen let out a long, tired sigh. "Observe," he said, as he stood and set his feet apart. He waved and wove his hands, fingers tracing lines of power, until the spell was set, and he released it. The complicated spellwork about Odin started to glow, the threads buried deepest in Odin's mind but encasing his entire being nonetheless.

Odin let out a small noise that clearly wasn't meant to slip out. "I see why you said you were hesitant to touch the spell," he said levelly. "I hadn't realized how…. _deep_ it went."

"Add on to that that the mind, either human or Asguardian, is woefully underknown. Even with the most advanced sciences here on Earth, we know so little of how memory is formed. We can see the process. The perceptions, theorize on how quickly memories deemed unimportant get dumped through short term, but how the mind categorizes what's important or not? What sort of neurotransmitters or chemical processes are used to facilitate that transfer? All a mystery."

"I believe our healers could answer that," Odin said with clear authority, then blinked. "I wonder how I knew that."

_Because you're Odin, the Allfather_, Stephen thought to himself. "I know that spellwork is not your forte, and that your knowledge is passing at best, but you know _Asguard_. You know the _nine realms_, with more certitude and familiarity than myself. Your insight has already been helpful."

"I believe you are flattering me," Odin replied lightly. "I doubt I've been able to contribute more than knowing I am not an expert on any sort of magics." He sat back, musing. "I wonder how I know what I do. Magic isn't really taught on Asguard. War is."

"If legends are to be believed, I suspect your wife may have taught you enough to recognize magic."

Odin looked over sharply. "Wife? I have a wife? Do I bear children as well?"

The glow of the spellwork immediately shifted, churning, flaring and Stephen watched again as the spell worked through Odin's mind. Stephen's jaw dropped as he watched how the spell worked. With all the studying he'd been doing, he was starting to recognize how some of the twists and swirls worked, how it was digging to the memory and burying it further. Recognizing patterns meant he was starting to formulate counter measures. He stood unconsciously, watching the spellwork, committing it to his eidetic memory, because _finally_ he was starting to get something to work with.

Odin grunted, and Stephen pulled his focus back to the Allfather. _Dammit, Odin's trying to fight it._ He rushed forward, shaky hands checking pulse and temperature. "It's alright," he offered quietly. "Don't fight it. We'll still win in the end. Give this spell a victory so that we may win later…."

When the spellwork settled, Odin heaved out a great sigh, sweat dripping down his forehead, looking exhausted.

"You're alright," Stephen kept soothing. "You're calm now." Heart rate was dropping back to normal. Temperate dropping to normal. Breathing returning to normal. "You're fine. It's fine."

"What _happened_?" Odin hissed.

"You tried to remember something," Stephen replied, helping Odin sit back to the pillows. "The spell worked to repress, but you fought back."

Odin glanced up, still out of breath, and watched as the spellwork continued to settle.

"Hmm," he continued to stare at the spellwork. "I can see why you've been advising against showing me any histories that exist. Even one such as I, who has little use for magic, can see that this is complicated work."

Stephen nodded gravely. "And anything involving the mind is not to be tampered with lightly."

Odin heaved a great sigh, no doubt understanding fully the work that would need to be done. "Leave me," he softly commanded.

Seeing a shimmer in the eye of frustration, Stephen merely nodded and left. Odin would need to get his emotions in check. That was fine. Stephen needed to get to Kamar-taj for more books.

* * *

"I wonder what I did to earn this," Odin said one day.

Stephen looked up from the books he'd brought that day. "Your pardon?"

Odin pushed aside his book, staring off into space. "It has occurred to me that this complicated spellwork that has so ensorcelled me would take a great deal of work. Why bother? No prank, no joke is worth this. You say you found me in a home for the elderly. Was I in the way of an inheritance of some kind? Or was I the type of man that had enemies? Was I both or neither?" He gestured to the spell that Stephen had made visible again. "This work takes malice. A great deal of malice. What have I done to earn this?"

Stephen frowned. "No one deserves this," he said softly. "To tamper with someone's body, their mind, without consent, is unforgivable. Have you earned someone's ire? Perhaps. Have you earned enmity? Possibly. Have you earned this? No." He set aside his books, looking Odin right in the eye. "As a doctor I have seen many who came across my operating table. Many believed that their cancer must be justified. It's not. Cancer is a mutation of cells that metastasizes. They did something wrong to be a paraplegic. It was an accident. I've seen so many who question why something so horrible happens to them and not others in the world, those who 'deserve' it."

He shook his head. "Benevolence and evil happen in the world. Violence is part of the evil. I've pulled bullets from brains, knives from spines, stitched and sewn and reconnected. I've seen and _survived_ the therapy that is needed to heal. _No one_ deserves anything like that. No one deserves to have their memories wiped and suppressed. No one deserves to be abandoned in a nursing home. _No one_ deserves what's been done to you."

Odin nodded, thoughtfully, but did not reply.

* * *

Stephen wasn't sure he'd call Odin a friend. The Allfather was too reserved for that, no doubt from eons of leading Asguard through wars and peace both. But as they worked together on the spellwork, there was an ease in interaction. After a week of study, Stephen finally felt confident enough to try and undo the spellwork.

"Are you certain?" he asked softly.

Odin's eye twinkled. "You Midgarians care a great deal about consent. I assert that you have mine in this procedure."

Nodding, Stephen lit a candle and took a deep breath. Loki's spellwork was devious and clever, and very complicated, almost obfuscating in design. Undoing it was going to take hours. He'd already had a huge breakfast and was praying nothing catastrophic would happen to interrupt this.

To say that undoing the spellwork was difficult would be something of an understatement. As Stephen expected Loki's crooked mind had knotted many of the spell threads with Odin's own inherent magic as being Asguardian. The knots were so intertwined that Stephen couldn't just snip them away. He had to unravel the damn thing first, and that was where most of the work was. Once, when he had been young and happy, his sister had given him a knotted necklace to fix. The necklace had been an intertwined chains and threads that had been rolled around together to be almost indecipherable. He could pull loops loose, but separating them from the actual knot had taken hours. That's what this was like. All Stephen could do was just keep working at each knot, unravel it, lay out the untwisted threads as straight as possible before following them to the next knot to unwind.

If it wasn't for the fact that Gordian Knots were Greek and not Norse, Stephen would have wondered if that had been Loki's gift to humanity.

Once most Odin's life force had been unwound from the spell work came the actual removing of the spell. This was just as complicated and difficult, if not moreso. If removing Odin's lifeforce from the spellwork was like detangling a necklace, then removing the spell was like trying to remove dried bubblegum from hair without cutting the hair. All the study that Stephen had done in the last week with Odin's help gave him strategies to try, ideas to finesse, but the actual doing was still tedious, delicate, temperamental, and obtuse. Every piece of the spellwork needed metaphorical massaging to loosen and remove.

When all was finally done, Stephen almost staggered as he became aware of how drained he was. The Cloak was the only thing keeping him upright, and as his arms dropped like lead, he twitched a finger to rub at the lining in thanks. His shoulders were squeezed back in a hug, a collar brushing briefly along his cheek. He was panting, he realized, and he blearily looked at his watch to realize that twenty hours had passed while he was removing the spell. The Cloak lifted him off the ground briefly to settle him in a chair he had set up nearby for just such a situation. For a brief moment, black hazed around the edges of his vision and he just lowered his head down between his knees and focused on breathing.

Damn.

When he had better control of himself, he slowly sat himself back up and looked to the jar of peanut butter he'd set up before starting and worked to ignore how much his hands shook as he just took spoonful after spoonful.

Once the shaking had lightened (it would _never_ stop…..) he cautiously went over to Odin to take his vitals again. Unsurprisingly, Odin was asleep. All that manipulation of his life-energy that had been wound within the spellwork, of course he'd be out cold. But he looked older. More worn. Worry tingled in Stephen.

Then Odin's eye fluttered and he looked to Stephen.

"Ah, Doctor Strange."

Stephen leaned back and let Odin set up.

Taking another spoonful of peanut butter, Stephen took a shaky breath and flicked his fingers and wrists. No sign of spellwork at all. His relief was very, very quiet.

Stephen returned to his seat and sat heavily. "And?" he asked softly, voice raspy after it's lack of use for so long.

Odin stared down at his aged hands. "I remember," he said softly. "I am Odin, the Allfather, husband of Frigga, father of Hela, Thor, and Loki, King of Asguard." He turned to Stephen. "You have done me a great service, Doctor Stephen Strange, Seidhr of Midgar. One I shan't soon forget." His beard quirked to a shadow of a smile. "You are greatly exhausted. We shall talk in the morning."

"But-" Stephen frowned at being ordered in his own home, "-we need to plan. If you are here and not on Asguard, we must return you. I suspect Loki, which means we need to-"

Odin held up a hand. "And we will be discussing much on the morrow. For now, take your well-earned rest. I must think."

Stephen frowned, but couldn't argue his exhaustion. With a heavy sigh, he left.

* * *

"I will not be returning to Asguard," Odin said when Stephen arrived the following day.

Stephen damn near stumbled. "_What_?"

Odin looked to Stephen, looking old and tired. "I would like you to find me a place here on Midgar, where I might live quietly."

Stephen took a moment to process that before looking firmly at Odin. "You _do_ understand that your son _Loki,_ who is on my watchlist of dangerous persons, is likely masquerading as _you_ and _ruling_ Asguard, don't you? Is that what you _want_?"

Odin gave a sad smile. "No. My wayward son is destined to be a king, but has much to learn before he can rule. His brother has learned some of those hard lessons. Loki has not, or rather not the right ones."

"So you agree that Asguard is in danger," Stephen said carefully.

The Allfather gave a thoughtful hum. "I suspect Thor will handle it."

Stephen pressed his lips together and reminded himself that shouting at a god would likely not be a good idea if one wanted to _work_ with said god. "How long before Thor realizes Loki's ruse and 'handles' it?"

"Not long. Within a century, I'd wager. Likely sooner as the young are always impatient."

Stephen held his jaw shut through sheer force of will. "You would let your people suffer under Loki, waiting for Thor to 'handle' it."

Odin's eyes were steel. "Yes. I need you to find me a place to live quietly."

"I'm not sure you understand what you're letting your people be subject to-"

"Mortal, you may be seidhr, but you must remember with whom you speak."

And there was _power_ in that voice.

Stephen bit back his first response. And his second and third. And let out a long sigh. "I am politely pointing out that you are leaving your people open to attack and damage and pain. I am advising that we stop Loki before such damage becomes irreversible. I am suggesting that the situation cannot stay as it currently is."

"I have spoken."

Stephen stood tall, the Cloak flaring around him in response to his feelings. "Sir, I would not think the Allfather, the leader of Asguard for eons, would so callously leave his people alone."

There was a clash of wills in the heavy silence.

Odin narrowed his eye. "I need not tell you anything, Doctor Stephen Strange, Seidhr of Midgar, but I will explain as thanks for the service you have performed." And Odin seemed to deflate, leaning back on his pillows. "You once said that no one deserved the spells that had been placed on me. I am uncertain if I agree or not, but I _do_ believe that I should continue my exile. _That_ I have earned."

"I-what?"

An old gnarled hand reached up to rub his forehead. "You are correct. I have lead Asguard for eons. And there has been much that I regret. These last few years have been…. Difficult. I lost my son Loki to a mad Titan, and now he is nothing but bitterness and misery. My son Thor is finally growing, learning, and changing for the better, but he doesn't wish the crown. Now that he is ready, he puts off and delays taking up his mantle as the next Allfather. Frigga…"

Odin's eye watered.

"Frigga, my love…"

Stephen didn't need to ask.

"I have lived my life. I have made my mistakes. I live with my regrets. It is time for the next generation. My power wanes even now, as I am away from the Odinsleep necessary to regain myself. I will soon pass." Odin looked to Stephen. "I have lived enough. I will meet my end as I see fit. If my mistakes raising Loki have led me to exile, then I accept my responsibility."

"I'm not exactly a believer in Kevorkian methods," Stephen said tightly. "I will not help you die."

"I am not asking you to. You are a healer, through and through, even worrying about my people whom you've never met or seen."

"Allfather-"

Odin gave a small smile. "You do your profession credit. But a patient has spoken. I wish to leave, against your advice. I wish to live out the remainder of my life somewhere I might be comfortable."

Stephen frowned.

"I am tired, Doctor Strange. I wish to rest as I choose."

* * *

Consent. It came back to consent. Stephen couldn't just open a portal to Asguard and drag Odin through to face Loki. Odin had made a choice and was sticking by it. Stephen grit his teeth. He'd seen patients like this before. Patients who went against medical-advice, chose alternate, less expensive, less _effective_ methods over what he or other doctors prescribed or recommended. And that was their _choice_.

It could sometimes be the hardest part about being a doctor, when you _knew_ what could be done, but the patient refused.

So Stephen's jaw tightened.

And he followed his Hippocratic Oath.

* * *

"You will contact me if you suffer," Stephen said firmly. "I will come to aid you immediately, or someone from the Sanctums will come and get you."

Odin offered an enigmatic smile. "I know how Asguardians die, Doctor Strange. I will feel nothing. I will not be disturbed, by you or anyone. I will simply enjoy meeting Frigga soon. I will take my exile with grace and dignity, for I have earned it in a way."

Stephen's jaw worked again.

"I can go with you. Help you set up a home. Help you adjust to how we live here."

But Odin offered that damn enigmatic smile again. "I have survived for eons. I think I can find my own way."

_Consent_, Stephen reminded himself. _Odin's will is to not be disturbed_. He opened a portal to Norway. "I will still assist you if you so wish it."

"I know." Odin patted Stephen's shoulder. "Perhaps, someday, my sons might meet you. I think they would both benefit from it."

Stephen offered a hooded look. If he ever encountered Loki, after seeing that complicated spellwork, he was going to be _prepared_ and trick the trickster. Thor, at least, seemed reasonable. Mostly.

Odin's eye twinkled. "Oh yes, they'd both benefit."

"You are certain?"

"Yes. Farewell, Doctor Stephen Strange, Seidhr of Midgar, and… Healer."

That actually made Stephen blink. That sounded like a title rather than a job. A gesture of respect.

He let out a sigh. "Farewell, Odin Borson, Allfather, King of Asguard, Defender of the Nine Realms, and…" Stephen held out his hand, "friend."

"Hmmm, friend. I think that a title of great import and one that requires work to maintain."

"And contact, from time to time."

Odin chuckled. He took Stephen's forearm and shook it, his grip weaker than when he had first awoken. "To be a seidhr is a difficult path. Take care."

Stephen watched Odin leave, feeling heavy. But… friend was perhaps accurate. Maybe not a close friend. But friend nonetheless.

He would follow what Odin consented to. Not disturb him, let Odin initiate contact if he wished. Give him the peace he sought. Odin deserved that.

Or rather, that's what Stephen intended. Until sometime later, Thor and Loki arrived, and Stephen's only priority was to get Loki away from Earth as promptly as possible.

And perhaps, he also wanted someone to check in on Odin. Because Odin shouldn't pass on alone.

**End**

**Author's Notes**: We don't understand tmblr. Depending on page layouts, it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever where we're supposed to look for things, or what it is other than social media. It has a reputation of being toxic for fandoms, and the two of us just want to find good art and read good fiction. But we found an author on AO3 who does fantastic Dr. Strange work, and could find previews on their tmblr page. Found a post about what Odin and Dr. Strange would talk about and this fic was born. Couldn't get it out of my head fast enough, even as midterms, progress reports, and data meetings ate up all the time. So here it is. Enjoy.


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